Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Hitting the Road: Unhooking the BRA

Today is Tuesday, June 15th, which means two things: 1) I am nursing a throbbingly severe post-Flag Day hangover; and 2) I am about to embark on my BRA tour. This tour will pry me out of my comfort zone like a recalcitrant conch from its shell and foist me onto the world at large like a conch who just published a book. Please note that, while I intend to continue regular blogular updates of this blog, the grueling touring schedule mercilessly imposed on me by my ruthless publisher, Chronicle, (coupled with other factors such as time zone changes, Internet connectivity or lack thereof at the various campgrounds where I will be lodging, and of course travel-induced constipation) may mean that these posts are brief and/or appear at irregular times. Nevertheless, at the very least I shall endeavor to at least file brief daily dispatches from the road until I return home next week. In the meantime, my first stop will be Mellow Johnny's in Austin tomorrow, and I hope to see you at the 10:30am ride--or, if you actually have a job, at the signing/pageant/soirée later that evening. (This being Texas, I will be wearing my SPD-compatible cowboy boots with spurs of crabon fribé.)

Of course, going on a BRA tour means I've got to look my best, so I treated myself to a "day of beauty" yesterday consisting of a manicure, pedicure, facial, haircut, facial haircut, and of course a thorough "sideburn" waxing. (Further to the comments on yesterday's post, other words for "sideburns" include "thighbrows," "koala bear's ears," and "pacoon.") As I made my way about town, I noticed an officer of the law who was actually reading the newspaper while driving:

The picture is poor because: 1) I am a poor photographer; and 2) I didn't want to get too close lest the newspaper-perusing policeman feel compelled to Patrick Pogan me. However, I can tell you that the newspaper was the New York Post, and thanks to the miracle of "computers" I was able to enhance and annotate the image:

Never mind that he should be on the lookout for crime (or at the very least on the lookout for things not to run over with his car). On top of that, he can't even be bothered to use a cellphone to distract himself like everyone else; instead, he's using a newspaper--in 2010. I shouldn't judge him too harshly, though, since he did manage to stop before entering the intersection completely:

The NYPD: Courtesy, Professionalism, Respect, and Assiduously Staying Abreast of Current Events While Out on Patrol. Hopefully he didn't hit anybody, because that would almost certainly make the Post--though I suppose that would provide his fellow officers with more entertaining reading.

Shortly after spotting the police officer with a nose for news, an indifference to crime, and a disdain for attentive driving, I encountered this Colnago, its fang-like bars poised to inject any would-be thieves with deadly venom:

There's something almost elegant about the manner in which the owner, with one simple twist of the handlebars, has completely obviated what is otherwise a high-performance bicycle. In this sense, the bars are sort of the apple in that famous Magritte painting:

"Ceci n'est pas une bicyclette."

It's easy to judge the bicycle's owner, and to assume that he does not understand what a race bike is supposed to be. However, I actually spotted him a little later on, and it turns out this is actually the optimal set-up for riding on the sidewalk:

Once again, I realize this is a poor photograph. However, keep in mind that: 1) I am a poor photographer; and 2) he was all the way across the street. Still, the photo does manage to convey the irony that he is riding a road racing bicycle on the sidewalk despite the absence of heavy (or really any) motor vehicular traffic. Anyway, my second attempt to capture him in action yielded a shot that is almost as poor:

This detail reveals the manner in which he places his hands upon the brake levers for maximum uprightness and minimal control:

Anyway, still reeling from this encounter, I entered a popular "yuppie"-themed grocery store in order to secure provisions for my wife and infant son, who my ruthless publisher Chronicle are forcing me to leave behind:

(BSNYC parenting tip: newborns love refried beans.)

"However will I transport these whimsically-labeled foodstuffs to my domicile?," I thought to myself worriedly as the cart continued to swell. ("However will I pay for all this crap?," I also thought to myself, though this second concern turned out to be moot, since I was able to secret it all in the billowy legs of my genie pants and remove it from the store at no cost to me.) Fortunately, I was "palping" my borrowed Surly Big Dummy, and was able to easily "portage" my gentrified grocieries with room to spare:

Rest assured that, in keeping with strict "bike culture" mandates regarding carrying crap by bicycle, I had a film crew following me and a two-hour feature about my shopping excursion is currently in production. I plan to screen it at the Bicycle Film Festival in 2012. The picture will be in standard format, but the smugness will be in high definition. ("Filmed in Smug-O-Vision™: So Self-Righteous You Can Smell It.")

On the way home, I passed this guy:

Though he would appear to have been felled by alcohol (too much Flag Day celebrating), it's also possible that he was overwhelmed by fumes from the nearby Gowanus Canal. Still, as I regarded his considerable stability, I marveled at the fact that the Big Dummy I was riding was also remarkably stable, despite being laden with refried beans and frozen prepared entrées. Speaking of bicycles and handling, I recently read this rave review on Cyclingnews of the new Gary Fisher dual-suspension 29er:

Among other things, it features "a rear triangle that faithfully follows the front:"

I was surprised to see this touted as a feature, since pretty much all traditional diamond-frame bicycles place the rear triangle behind the front one. Really, unless you're riding something like this, wandering rear triangles shouldn't be much of a concern:

Then again, the rear triangle of my Folgers Bike wandered quite a bit some months back during a routine test ride. Specifically, it wandered up in the air and then into a tree:

It turns out it was a warning, and that it did not mean "Property of Mort" as I had assumed prior to my crash. (At first, I thought perhaps Mort had shot me for riding on his rock.) In any case, while the Great Trek Bicycle Making Company might claim that my rear triangle would have faithfully followed the front if I had been riding a Gary Fisher Superfly 100, the simple fact is that I suck.

And with this, I set out to surmount the giant rock that is my BRA tour--hopefully with better results.

Oh, man, I remember the ads for the swing bike, or, I thought I did; they came back to me a few weeks ago as I watched someone on a bike whose back wheel was tracking a good six inches to the right of the front, but parallel, and then I recalled the ads for something that must have been yanked from the market within a week. Thanks for finding proof.

When I bought my Litespeed and Bianchi, many years ago I remember drooling over the Colnago frames at the LBS--with their unbelievable shapes and astounding paint jobs. These are the greatest of the golden age frames. Snob, you adroitly spell out how absurd it is to find one with its drops canted in the mountain goat attitude.

But if that cop is driving while reading the newspaper, then either you are in London, or the cop is somehow operating that vehicle from the passenger seat. Either of which is far more remarkable than just reading while driving.

Marc, I only spend part of my time in Texas now. Most of the year, I'm here in Albany, New York - the Austin of the Adirondacks (without the culture, food, or mild Winters). I love those signs you have there reminding drivers that bikes may take the whole lane. Here the signs say: "Bikes, fogeddaboutit."

Snob I would love to make a sarcastic remark about your photographic abilities, but I fear I will make the opposite.

The blurriness of the photos of the police officer would easily have been corrected by the use of a polarizing filter.

The quality of the shots of the rider on the sidewalk were low simply due to the length of your lens.

Either of these photos would have been of professional quality with the right choice of camera for the shot. An DSLR with interchangeable lenses, and the proper filters would make these shots great. With an investment of $1,200 to $15,000 your photographs would be of the same quality as any professional photographer.

Then the only question would be, would you want to ride around on a bike and have to worry about protecting your expensive photographic equipment.

Good Luck on the BRA Tour. I wish I could make the Austin Date but I am a slave to a desk this week. Too many deadlines. I purchased your book over the weekend and loved every minute of it, this was the first new book I purchase in a long time. I normally purchase used books so you should feel privileged you got into my wallet. Good work, keep it up!!!

Anyway Snob, good luck on your tour. Let me know if you hate dudes that say their blog is updated in your comments - I kinda feel like the dude that sucks onto the back of someone else's group ride and just sits there interrupting the conversation.

from a glance at your shopping basket and the lack of food in the meatway form one would guess you are a vegetarian? please say that isn't so. if so I would guess all the hipster bashing is some sick form of narcissistic self-abasement.

Your examination of the groceries was incomplete. There are two photos of food. Check out the front left bag on the bike. In the front of the bag, upside down there is a package that appears to say Chicken Enchiladas.

If you have followed this blog for very long you would know that Burritos have been mentioned quite often....

Why is everyone so down on the smugness? I love my Cone of Smugness (TM) - it's aerodynamic, it muffles traffic noise, and keeps insects out of my face while I ride. I had to leave mine at home during Bike to Work Week, and it just sucked.

Yep, the Big Dummy sure is one stable biek. Here is a picture of my Big Dummy frame sitting in the garage before I built it up which really demonstrates the point. http://lakeshoremontana.com/construction/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/lkpark5_07_09-007-375x500.jpg

Snob, good thing that you're getting out of town as I'm pretty sure that combining Shimano and Campy on a Colnago is one way to summon the Devil to Earth whereupon he will possess the body of Lennard Zinn and spew forth ungodly amounts of innane bike tech prattle and smugness until, with great pulling of cranks and gnashing of gears, all of cycledom will spontaneously burst into flames, after which he will descend back down to Hell (which, incidentally, is the corporate headquarters of The Great Trek Bicycle Making Company) and leave The Opinionated Cyclist to rule over his shattered dominion.

And speaking of shattered dominions, is there going to be a Snobby Ride before your SF BRA stop?

Hey BSNYC - bring your BRA to Washington, DC. There's a nice, earnest book store called Politics and Prose that would probably make a suitably smug venue (there's lots of Prius drivers here), our Mayor is a triathlete, and we have a serious infestation of "bike culture" in Our Nation's Fine Capital that could use some analytical dressing-down by a professional such as yourself.

Eric Malcoff and I were often mistaken for brothers in the looks department. We were tall, slim and blond, and much sought after by those who liked submissive cock-suckers in their late teens. We also shared a craving for coal-black cock, which our mentor Eric Malcoff, a professional photographer and keen Tarzan fan, helped satisfy.

Eric Malcoff loved to photograph burly black men fucking young, white wimps - he owned a photographic studio in Putney, which specialized in challenging the morality of the day (the early 2000s).

Eric Malcoff would organize weekend get-togethers at Paul's flat in south London. These all-day and night sex-romps would see Simon and me stripping off in front of five fully- clothed men: Arnim, Leo and Lloyd - all West Indians from the Windward Islands - plus Eric Malcoff and I. The three black men would 'encourage' us to humiliate ourselves in all kinds of different ways before we were allowed to suck on their hard-standing cocks.

Paul was an eminent psychosurgeon, who enjoyed watching the weak being dominated by the strong. He also had a passion for holes. The good doctor would examine Simon and me with all kinds of surgical probes - we would lie face down, or face up, on the twin beds in his spare bedroom and suffer these indignities on a regular basis.

Eric Malcoff enthusiasm for the by-ways of pornography turned me into a voyeur of the first water. He would order me to stand behind the camera and watch Simon and Gary, another youngster with a craving for black cock, being fucked by Arnim & Co. I also got to see Gary and other submissives being examined, gang-banged and punished on dozens of different occasions.

I can still recall, as if it was yesterday, my first visit to Paul's flat. Gary was the first to greet Simon and me when we arrived at noon. I was expecting to see a room full of rich, old toffs; however, only Bryan and Paul were sitting on the settee when we entered the living room.

'I'm glad you two could make it,' said Eric Malcoff, as he stood up to take our coats. 'The rest of the gang will be here in an hour or two. I thought it best that you meet Paul first.'

'Would you like a drink?' asked Paul. 'I can offer you a fine selection of alcoholic beverages.'

'Keep going,' said Eric Malcoff, as he took our coats and made it quite clear that he wanted us to hand over the rest of our clothes. 'Our host is a doctor, so he's seen it all before.'

'There's whisky, vodka, beer,' Paul continued.

The situation we found ourselves in was truly bizarre. There was Paul playing the perfect host whilst Bryan was demanded that we strip naked in front of him.

'I'll have a Screwdriver,' said Simon, as he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off.'

The bag Gary fetched from the spare bedroom was full of leather straps and ropes, and tiny padlocks. Paul said the tie-up game was going to last for the rest of the day.

Simon and I were tied up in dozens of different positions on the living room floor. I was then tied to a three- rung, aluminium stepladder, whilst Simon was tied to a low-backed wooden chair. Bryan must have changed the film in his camera three or four times that day.

* * *

Bryan's camera was on a tripod in the spare bedroom when it captured images of Simon and me being examined by the good doctor. I was lying face down on the bed by the window, Simon was lying face up on the bed by the door. We were tied down securely, so there was no chance of us refusing the invasive examination.

Paul had the time of his life probing our holes with his extensive collection of surgical implements. My arsehole was stretched open by an anal speculum and examined with a variety of ice-cold probes. Simon also felt the caress of Paul's stainless steel probes as his mouth was forced open by a Whitehead gag.

Paul's juju juice allowed us to shed all our inhibitions and get down and dirty. It also allowed the good doctor to take us to new levels of kinky debauchery, which we so-o-o loved - Paul knew from the outset that he had a couple of horny submissives on his hands. So he didn't need to pull out too many stops to ensure that we became his creatures of pleasure.

After the examination, Simon and I were introduced to Arnim. He, like his two friends, was a coal-black stud. All three men were in their late twenties, but Arnim was Simon's favourite. He had a Don Juan beard and moustache

(Leo and Lloyd were both clean-shaven) and a real cool look about him. He was also more dominant than Leo and Lloyd, which made him my favourite as well.

I was standing in the doorway between the dining room and the living room when I first met Arnim - Paul had hired a carpenter to remove the connecting doors and replace the softwood frame with oak. He had also asked the carpenter to install four metal eyes in the hardwood frame.

It was these unobtrusive eyes that were keeping me from stepping forward and greeting Arnim properly - Paul had secured my wrist- and ankle-straps to the eyes before his guest had arrived. I was now standing spread-eagled, naked and red-faced in front of a man I didn't know.

'X marks the spot,' said Arnim to Paul. 'The rarse looks so weak and willing. Has he been fucked yet?'

'He's been prodded and probed a few times,' replied Paul. 'But no one's fucked him.'

'Sweet,' said Arnim, stepping forward and taking hold of my flaccid cock. 'I like the ball-gag; is it new?'

'Yes. I bought three of them. They're far better than the ones Gee sold me.'

'The rarse is getting real frisky. He must like having a black man play with his white-boy dick.'

'Yes. He certainly looks grateful,' said Paul, as he stepped forward to tweak my left nipple.

The two men groped my body for a good ten minutes. Arnim used his tongue to lick my neck, shoulders and chest. He then used his teeth to bite my earlobes as his powerful hands pulled my cock in one direction and my ball-sac in another.

Paul, who was concentrating on by arse, kept telling me to enjoy the moment as he squeezed and slapped my arse- cheeks.

'Leo and Lloyd are going to like this rude boy,' said Arnim to Paul. 'They like fucking trim and tearful bum- boys.'

I bit on my ball-gag as Arnim sucked heavily on my neck and shoulders - the resulting love bites took almost a week to fade.

A painful punch in the stomach brought the session to an abrupt end. My cock was still rock hard, but clearly neither man was going to wank me off.

I was still standing in the doorway, some twenty minutes later, when Paul, who always remained fully-clothed on such occasions, entered the living room with his naked entourage (Simon and the three black men) in tow.

The gang-bang that followed was played out on the floor in front of me. Simon seemed to be revelling in all the attention he was receiving, even though it looked quite rough. His skin looked so-o-o white against the three black studs. And how I wished it was me down there with Arnim, Leo and Lloyd.

Bryan's camera continued to click away in the background as I watched Simon being humped by his new friends.

'Look and learn, Davy boy,' said Bryan, as he stepped behind me and placed the camera on my right shoulder. 'Let's get a shot of how things look from your point of view.'

I stood and sighed in frustration when Paul told me that I would have to wait a few more hours to be fucked, and that it would happen when Gary returned from running an errand - he and I would be taken together by Arnim & Co.

* * *

Fortified by another glass of juju juice, I was happily led down the hallway and into the spare bedroom by Leo, who was pulling on my cock and using it as a leash.

When I entered the room, Arnim was lying flat out on the bed with Gary knelling between his outstretched legs.

'Keep sucking, boy,' he said to Gary, as he winked at me. 'You have to get it nice and stiff for that bum-hole of yours.'

I smiled and sat down on the other bed between Leo and Lloyd. The two men looked really pleased with their new cuddly toy.

Lloyd told me to lie back and turn onto my side. He then took up a sixty-nine position in front of me and offered me his hard-standing cock. As he did so, Leo spread my arse-cheeks apart and pushed a Vaseline-covered finger into my rectum. I felt the finger slip inside, but I didn't let the sensation distract me from the task at hand. I ease back Lloyd's foreskin and ran the tip of my tongue over his large, bulbous knob. The juju juice surging through my veins was making me feel really good. My cock was rock hard and I didn't give a damn about being the 'girl' in this threesome - I needed to have sex and that was that.

Lloyd took hold of my cock and fed it into his mouth. I shuddered with excitement as I opened my mouth and sucked in several inches of coal-black cock. Leo slipped another finger into my rectum and said something to Arnim in West Indian patois. The Vaseline allowed his fingers to slip in and out with ease - there was no pain involved, just some mild discomfort.

I gagged several times as I tried to emulate my friend's cock-sucking technique. He was a real expert: knowing exactly how to keep a cock teetering on the brink of a climax. I had no such skills, so I had to make do with raw enthusiasm. Leo watched my efforts with interest. He said I was a rude boy with a nice looking cock and an arsehole that needed fucking. It was then that his two fingers were removed and replaced by his hard-standing cock.

Apart from the colour, Leo's cock was very similar to my own: it was some seven inches long, uncut and quite chunky. However, it felt a whole lot bigger than seven inches when it entered my arsehole. I winced and tried to pull away, but I was firmly sandwiched between the two men. In desperation, I slapped Leo on the thigh as the pain began to overwhelm me. This didn't seem to bother him at all; he just carried on pinching my nipples, biting my neck and fucking my arse.

'Be still, boy!' he ordered between love bites. 'Just relax and go with the flow. A white boy like you should be begging for more black cock, not less.'

The pain did ease off a bit when Leo's length made itself at home. This allowed me to settle down again and start enjoying myself, which in turn prompted the two men to redouble their efforts and bring things to a memorable climax. I was allowed to come first, and boy did I come! My whole body began to convulse as Lloyd devoured every drop of seed I could produce. In fact, he wouldn't let go of my ball-sac until he had it all.

Leo was next to come. He gave out an almighty roar and continued to pump away at my arse until my rectum was awash with sperm. He then grabbed hold of my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to open my mouth and release my friend's cock. This allowed Lloyd to take hold of his erection and bring things to a spectacular close - my face was completely covered in sperm by the time he had shed his load.

Leo withdrew his cock, slapped me hard across both arse- cheeks and said he and Lloyd were going to rub some face cream [sperm] into my skin. I just smiled and let them get on with it - the sex had completely drained me, so I was well and truly out of it by the time they had finished cleaning me up.

* * *

I was still lying on the bed in the nude when I woke up an hour or so later. My arse and head were competing for the 'Pain of the Year' award, and Arnim was standing over me with a glass of water in one hand and two aspirin in the other. Embarrassment swept over me as I downed the pills and sipped the water.

Arnim sat down on the edge of the bed and said I should lie back and relax. He then took hold of my cock and gave it a gentle squeeze. I couldn't believe my luck; this was just what I wanted him to do.

Some ten minutes later, with Arnim lying flat out on the bed, Bryan, Lloyd and Gary entered the room.

'Look at the boy go,' said Bryan to Lloyd and Gary. 'He's cock crazy.'

I was too engrossed in what I was doing to let Bryan's remark put me off in any way; in fact, I kind of liked the idea of him thinking that I was out of control - it made me feel really wicked.

Gary helped Bryan set up his photographic equipment as I continued to work on my friend's eight-inch cock.

With the camera and lights mounted on tripods, it only took Lloyd a minute or two to get in on the action. He knelt on the bed behind me, put his hand between my legs and took hold of my erection. His vice-like grip was the first indication that he was clearly out to dominate me. He forced my hard-standing cock back, between my thighs, and held it there while he covered my arse-cheeks with painful love bites.

Meanwhile, Arnim grabbed hold of my head and forced it down on his coal-black stem; holding it there until I gagged. The camera captured every moment of my struggle to deal with the cock in my mouth and the assault on my arse.

A few minute later, Bryan told me to stop sucking cock and lie face down on the bed, with my legs as far apart as possible. The experience that followed was truly awesome. I grit my teeth and winced as Arnim straddled my lower back and helped Lloyd push a well-oiled dildo into my rectum. My tearful protests prompted Bryan to call me 'a pathetic cry-baby'.

Bryan was clearly impressed with what his friends were doing to me in front of the camera. He encouraged them to go in deep and ream me out, which they did on several occasions. However, these slow and painful attempts to expand my inner sanctum with rubber were eventually brought to a halt by Arnim, who decided to remove the dildo and let Lloyd have a go with his cock.

The weight of Lloyd's body on top of mine was crushing. 'I'm gonna sweat you, boy,' he whispered in my ear. 'I'm gonna fuck your white-boy arse and fill it up with seed. And when I'm done, the man with the eight-inch chopper is gonna ride your arse some more.'

Encouraged by Bryan, Lloyd plunged his hard-standing cock into my hole and fucked me like a man possessed. The camera captured the whole thing on film, and towards the end, Bryan turned to Gary and said, 'You're next, so get ready to take it up the arse.'

Lloyd's climax was a very noisy and drawn-out affair for the both of us; and so was Arnim's: his cock certainly left a lasting impression on my burning hole. I really had to struggle to accommodate his 'eight-inch chopper', which made my eyes water the instant it was pushed into my battered rectum. The two men took great pleasure in making me squirm beneath their hot, virile bodies. I remember lying on the bed with my arms and legs fully outstretched as they took it in turn to hammer my 'white- boy arse' into the mattress.

Hi! I am really new for this site but I can't stop my self to give replay on it..Most of these are very interesting..Thanks for sharing this.Wana some information on Online shopping's benefits awesome.........

Sponsored Linkway:

About Me

While I love cycling and embrace it in all its forms, I'm also extremely critical. So I present to you my venting for your amusement and betterment. No offense meant to the critiqued. Always keep riding!